For by the time the peach gardens around Kandahar lay like clouds of pink and white about the old domed city, little Prince Akbar was in looks and ways a child of three or even four; so big and strong was he.

He spoke perfectly in his childish way, with great emphasis and a curious, soft burr over his r's and h's.

And he actually tried to wrestle with his cousin Ibrahim, who was, however, rather a puny boy, despite the fact that he was three years older than the little Heir-to-Empire.
But with Roy as playmate Akbar began all sorts of games.

There was a high, walled peach garden not far from the bastion, where the little Prince used to be allowed to go; and there, during the long sunny hours, the Rajput lad, to whom such things were all curiously familiar, taught the child how to ride on Tumbu's back, and how to hold a spear.

Aye! and to take a tent peg, too; the peg being only a soft carrot stuck in the earth! But the great game was shooting with a bow and arrow, and in this, before spring passed to summer, the pupil was a match with his teacher except in strength; for, from the very beginning, Akbar showed himself steady and straight as a shot; so it is no wonder he grew up to be the finest marksman in India.